


Beware the snow. Beware the man/You think you know.

by kestra_troi



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barebacking, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Coitus Interruptus, Cold Weather, Consent Issues, Dark Character, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gangs, Gun Violence, Hook-Up, How Do I Tag, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Internal Monologue, Jump cuts, Mild Blood, Murder, Murderers, No Plot/Plotless, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Original Character(s), POV Third Person Omniscient, Pointless, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Rough Sex, Sex in a Car, Sexual Content, Short One Shot, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Threats of Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, You Have Been Warned, erotic asphyxiation, sociopath OFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 11:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kestra_troi/pseuds/kestra_troi
Summary: Ramsay takes a liking to the wench at the local bar. Fortunately for Ivy, the bar wench in question, she's used to violent men. At least this time she's going in to this with her eyes wide open. They hook-up in the parking lot. After Ramsay kills a guy first, of course.[Both the violence and the sex are less detailed than I normally write.]





	Beware the snow. Beware the man/You think you know.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote from a poem by Catherine Fisher. 
> 
> The idea for this fic was inspired by basically everything CrowKing and Kee_writestrashh have written involving Ramsay. Check out their stuff if you want some Ramsay naughtiness. 
> 
> Just so y'all know, full transparency, I have been trying to write this story for well over a year and it has never come out the way I wanted. Today, though I share with you what I've got. The format is a bit odd. Asterisks (*) divide the story, like jump cuts. Words in italics are a character's internal monologue, used sparingly though. Also the story itself is darker than what I usually write, so if messed-up characters doing messed-up things squicks you or triggers you TURN AWAY NOW.
> 
> The show and the books have almost no bearing on the story other than providing the main character and the setting. Don't be looking for canon around here my friends. 
> 
> I don't often write F/M smut, so be gentle with me. I also don't often write such unhealthy/violent smut either. Tread carefully. 
> 
> Ramsay is my favorite GoT villain. I only ship him with OFCs, which is one reason why I haven't written much for him. Writing OCs is hard, y'all.

Since she could feel his eyes on her, Ivy gave a little extra bounce to her walk back to the bar. They both knew what was coming. Ramsay wasn’t known for his restraint or inhibitions. And truth be told, neither was Ivy. Though to a different, lesser degree. He was a gang leader, she was a waitress at a dive bar. Hardly much opportunity to murder, maim, steal, and rape as a shit-paid waitress living on tips and the kindness of her boss. 

“I’m taking off early tonight,” she told Jak as she came around the counter. Her boss looked from her to the booth she’d just served and frowned inside. Everybody from these parts knew who he was, the eponymous bastard of the Bastard’s Boys, the worst of the worst of the Flayer’s Cross Gang. 

Ramsay had his eyes on her, blue and icy cold. He kept staring, unblinking. Jak shuddered and yanked his gaze away from the man before he got caught in the crossfire. “Sure thing,” he said. Ivy handed him a glass she’d just finished wiping and Jak smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See ya tomorrow, boss,” she returned, taking off her apron and name tag.

Jak poured some drinks and handed them out to the patrons at the counter. He watched from beneath his eyebrows as Ivy grabbed her things and headed out. With Ramsay hot on her tail.  _ ‘Please, don’t die,’ _ he silently prayed.  _ ‘Please, don’t kill her. She’s the best help I’ve had.’ _

*

The cold was bracing, but not worth mentioning. Summer snow clung to the gutter grass, browned by mud and slushed about by car tires. The type of nature that never made the guidebooks. Ivy stepped out into the parking lot and waited under the one light Jak’s Bar had that shown on the door and the immediate, barren surroundings. 

Loose gravel crunched under her feet. Cigarette buds littered the ground along with an empty beer bottle or two. Ivy tied her jacket loosely around her waist. The thin material offered almost no protection from the cold, but she was a Northerner through and through. A little cold, a summery cold, didn’t bother her. Mostly she just liked the way the jacket hugged her curves and it gave her hands something to do while she waited. 

She glanced over the far side of the lot to the street. No one was there. Barely over a mile out of town and this place felt like it might as well be at the ends of the world. The street didn’t even have lights yet. No reason to have them, really. You couldn’t walk to the bar from anywhere, nothing else was close by. Undeveloped woods on all sides. Why Jak had chosen this particular spot to open a bar would forever be a mystery.

Finally, the door opened and out came Ramsay in his pink embroidered leather jacket which proudly proclaimed his loyalties to the Flayer’s Cross and oddly enough the regional kennel club. Now that she thought of it though, she had heard about his affinity for dogs. As well as a few less-than-kind remarks about his  _ affinity _ for dogs. 

“Your place or mine?”

“What’s wrong with right here,” he countered. 

Ivy arched her eyebrow disdainfully. “On the ground? Like dogs?”

Ramsay shrugged. From behind his left ear nabbed a cigarette and put it between his lips. “Why not?”

“Why don’t we just fuck in the dumpster out back like a couple hobos, then?”

“Nah.” Ramsay took the cigarette out of his mouth and sneered. “That’s where your body’s gonna end up.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Ivy quipped. 

“That’s what I  **do** to all the girls,” Ramsay amended, amused with his own wit. Ivy forced herself not to roll her eyes and marched over to him. Casual sex with a man she knew mostly from reputation and serving him and his buddy drinks on a frequent basis was one thing, but she was not about to fuck in the dirt like an animal. Not for a million dollars. Not even for an alleged murderer.

Slowly, she skimmed her hand up his chest, feeling the hard muscle and surprisingly warm skin underneath his shirt. She’d wanted to get her hands on his chest for awhile, ever since he came into the bar one afternoon shirtless and sweaty from running. Or so he had claimed. There was no reason for anyone to run in these parts unless they were being chased or doing the chasing. Her money was on the latter, but damn if he wasn’t fit for a madman. 

Ivy stepped closer, pressing herself against him, draping her arm around his shoulders. “You’re such a charmer,” she muttered. Twining her fingers in his thick head of hair, she pulled him down into a kiss, licking his lips for entry first and then diving in full force. 

Smiling into the kiss, Ramsay wrapped his arm around her waist yanked her closer until there was no space between them. “I wasn’t kidding,” he said, nipping at her lips aggressively like he wanted to mark her up, make her bleed. He probably did. Ivy shivered. No matter what he thought she wouldn’t go down easily.

She jerked his head back and rolled her hips rubbing herself against his bulge. Ramsay groaned, eyes springing wide open. She stared right back at him. “I know.”

Once again, Ramsay’s face burst into a disturbed and disturbing grin. He grabbed her ass and squeezed, holding her tightly against his obviously growing erection. Ivy claimed his lips, nipping at them back harder than he’d done to her. He growled or something like it and bumped his nose against her cheek, getting her to turn her head. 

Throat bared, he leaned down and licked her neck, sucking hungrily at her skin. Ivy moaned, and brought her other arm around his back, pulling him in, holding him there against her throat. No doubt he was leaving a mess of bruises, but Ivy didn’t care. It had been too long since she’d had a satisfying lay. 

She hitched her leg over his hip and let his bulge jab at her wet cunt. He felt thick. She liked thick men. He poked at her with his dick and Ivy tensed. Catching the shell of his ear between her teeth, she hissed, “Not here.”

Curling his fingers through her hair, Ramsay wrenched her head back and snarled. “I’ll have you wherever I want you.” 

“Not. Out. Here,” she reiterated. He tightened his grip on her head and Ivy winced. “You have a car, don’t you?”

“I don’t fuck whores in my car,” he spat.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a whore,” she retorted. He gazed at her like he couldn’t believe how brazen she was being. Nobody dared speak to him with anything other than fear or anger or forced congeniality. Those who did otherwise ended up dead or worse. Ivy knew this, but she had limits. 

If she was going to die she wanted it to be for a good reason like pissing off the wrong guy rather than dying because he was bored. He stared her down, holding her away as he waited for her to buckle. Fat chance. 

Through gritted teeth she suggested, “Pick a car.”

Ramsay’s expression went dangerously flat. In a flash, he let her go and grabbed her again this time by the throat. He reeled her in to whisper in her ear, “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

“ **After** we fuck,” she declared, panting for breath.

Surprised by her nonchalance, Ramsay pushed her away from him. Eyebrow raised, he studied her face. “You’re crazy.”

“Ditto,” she spat, turning red. 

He paused for half a second and then broke into a wide smile. He released his grip on her throat and once again wrapped his arm around her middle, pulling her right next to him. Ivy gasped, catching her breath as Ramsay led them between parked cars. “This is going to be fun.” 

*

The van he chose sat on the far side of the parking lot, closer to the road than the bar, sitting in a clump of cars she didn’t recognize. The brown and white siding was rusty and crumbling, the tires nearly bald and bereft of snow chains. The antenna had a bronze turtle bauble on top, clearly marking the owner as a Sotheron tourist from the Stormlands. 

Shoving Ivy into the front passenger side door, Ramsay grinned. “Good. No alarm.” 

“Would that have stopped you,” Ivy asked, regaining her balance. Ramsay snorted. There was her answer. Just as she expected. Ivy watched briefly as Ramsay plied his trade on the lock of the sliding door, then as he fiddled with his lockpicks she slipped in behind him and groped his bulge. 

“So you’re not a whore, but a slut,” he charged. 

“Only when I think a man’ll prove worthwhile,” she whispered, flicking her tongue along the shell of his ear as she squeezed his shaft through the denim of his jeans. She kissed down to his throat and repaid a few of the lovebites he’d left on her with some of her own. “Will you?”

Right then, the sliding door whooshed open. Ramsay spun around on his heels and all but tossed Ivy inside. She nearly hit the other side of the van with theo force he used. “After you,” he joked, ducking into the darkened interior like a predator stalking prey. 

“Finally,” she sarcastically complained. 

Ramsay slammed the sliding door closed behind him. 

*

Narmen staggered out of the bar unsteadily and shook violently on getting outside. Summer in the North was almost as bad as the Stormlands in winter. Why would anyone choose to live here? Why had he decided to spend two weeks here on his vacation? It was cheap. 

‘If you can’t afford going south for the winter, go North for the summer!’ That’s what the brochures said and like an idiot Narmen came. So far all the North had going for it was landscapes. Lots and lots of landscapes and not much else. Besides bars. Landscapes and bars were all the North had to offer as far as he could tell. That and the cold. 

“Fuckin’ cold,” he grumbled to himself, trying to shrink further into his coat. He should’ve opted for thermal lined clothes, but no he hadn’t wanted to spend the money. Why would he need them? He wouldn’t be out at night?

The joke was on him though because as he soon discovered the North was cold regardless of season or time of day. Mornings? Cold. Afternoons? Chilly, but also cold. Nights? ** Fucking** cold. Why had he decided to come to a bar at night? Oh yeah...to drink. Which was the only real sport they seemed to have up here.

The alcohol-induced warmth was starting to fade as Narmen slumped off to find his van. Why had he parked so far away? He couldn’t remember because he was too  **FUCKING ** cold! He shivered just thinking about getting into his icy, non-insulated car. 

Now that he’d been here for over a week, Narman felt comfortable saying that he hated the North. H A T E D it. There was nothing worthwhile going on here. No wonder they had to pump out so many brochures every year, otherwise nobody would ever come here of their own volition. 

Hands shaking from the cold, Narmen struggled with his keys until he finally got the right one singled out. He slid it into the lock and turned the key. The locks made no sound of being released, but his baby was an oldie and didn’t have that annoyingly modern feature, so he tugged out his key and opened the door. 

The car light up front switched on as Nerman slid into his seat. He could hear...Whipping his head around Nermen stared, agog at what he saw. There was a naked woman, a hot naked woman, and a half naked man making out in his van! “What the hells?!”

“Go away,” the man barked, his lips promptly being reclaimed by the shameless woman. 

“This is my van, dude!”

Suddenly, the guy had a gun in his hand. “Get. Out.”

At a loss for words, Narmen gaped, open mouthed like a landed fish. The guy clicked off the safety and aimed his gun right at Narmen’s face. He had a terribly dark look on his face. Pale and pissed, Narmen leapt out of his car like it was a house on fire and slammed the door closed behind him. 

Northerners were crazy! He was never coming up here again!

*

Ramsay chuckled and slid his gun back into his boot. Turning back to his girl, he gazed down at her perky and bite-marked tits. “Now, where were we?”

He ducked down to get back to marking her up, but Ivy pushed him away. “You know he’s going to call the cops on us,” she said, unhappily. 

“So?” Ramsay shrugged. He couldn’t be bothered. “It’ll take at least half an hour for anyone to show up. Sides they all work for me around here anyways.”

“I’m not dealing with the cops on a first date,” Ivy announced. “I’ve had enough of that shit.” 

Shaking his head, Ramsay looked at her like she was a madwoman. “This isn’t a date. The cops are pussies. And that guy will be dead by tomorrow.” 

“Why wait?”

“What?”

“Go deal with him,” Ivy proposed. “Now. And we won’t have to rush.”

Drawing her nails down his bare chest, Ivy roughly gripped Ramsay’s dick a shy too tightly. As he sat up, Ivy grabbed him by the throat with her other hand and caught his plum bottom lip between her teeth. She tugged the supple skin away, digging her teeth into him until he bled and Ramsay gasped. “We could stay in here, all night,” she suggested.

Ramsay held her gaze, expression closed off and unreadable. Gradually, his lips splintered into a slightly bloody smile. Knocking her hands away, Ramsay rolled on top of her and pinned her down. “When I get through with him, I’m coming back for you,” he muttered, in a low threatening voice.

“I’ll be here,” she promised. Ramsay laughed and leaned down for one more kiss, letting her free so he could wrench the sliding door open. The van shook as Ramsay slid out into the night. He took out his gun again and turned around to face her. Looking almost deranged, he slid the door closed, his eyes never blinking as he stared directly into her eyes. 

Sitting up, Ivy picked up Ramsay’s jacket and put it on, pulling the leather close to her skin. She turned up the collar and took a whiff of the scent. Guns, leather, and a man. She rolled her eyes and laid back down on top of her discarded clothes, alone in the dark. 

She heard a gunshot and barely flinched. Guns were the number one import for the North. Big business. Made a lot of nasty men very rich. 

Silence. 

Bored after only a few moments, Ivy heaved a sigh and scooted over to the sliding door. As quietly as she could, she opened it just wide enough to get out and slid it closed behind her. 

The gravel-grass mix beneath her feet was ice cold. She barely made it a single step away when the van door popped open. Annoyed with the thing, she nevertheless took the opportunity to slip on her flats before slamming the door closed for good. 

The man screamed for help. Ivy huffed, her breath making a cloud in front of her face. No one around here would intervene. Nobody would dare cross a man of the Bastard’s Boys. Especially, not THE Bastard. People in these parts like being alive. They liked keeping their skins, so they kept their mouths shut and minded their own business. 

The screaming though was useful for finding the two men, so Ivy followed the commotion out of the parking lot and into the middle of the road. The Southron saw her first. “Help me, please!? He’s crazy! You’ve got to help me!”

Ramsay turned to her and she shrugged, gliding over to him silently. When she got close, Ramsay wrapped his arm around her shoulders and Ivy wrapped hers around his middle. The man croaked in distress, realizing he was truly alone as he clutched his head. “I hate waiting,” she told them. “What are you waiting for?”

“He doesn’t want to play the game,” Ramsay explained in a chillingly cloying tone. 

Ivy looked at the man, sorry that he should be in such dire straits, bleeding as he was from the side of his face where his ear should’ve been. Calmly, she looked the frightened thing in the eye and asked, “What’s your name?”

“N-ner-Narmen,” he stuttered. 

“Narmen,” she repeated softly. “You really don’t have a choice.”

He whimpered. 

“Now, Narmen, dear,” she said sweetly. “Why don’t you toss me your van keys and at least try to die with some tiny shred of dignity, huh?”

He blubbered. 

“You heard the lady,” Ramsay prompted. “Give her your keys.”

Sobbing as he searched his pockets Narmen produced his keys and threw them at Ivy. They missed by a shameful distance. Holding in a derisive snort, Ivy stepped away from Ramsay and bent down to pick them up off the road. “Please,” Narmen pleaded, one last time. His disbelief finally giving way to despair. “Help.”

Ivy cocked her head to the side and pitied this poor man. A visitor to their land. A nobody that no one would miss who simply came out to a bar to have a drink. A man with the worst luck. “Sorry,” she replied. She backed her way to Ramsay’s side once more. 

Ramsay beamed at her, grinning and rosy cheeked like a schoolboy at the start of the winter holiday. Gazing back at his victim, Ramsay offered him the last rule of the game, “If you make it to the river, you win.”

The man, probably still disoriented with drink swayed on his feet, but stood there as if rooted to the spot. Ivy looked the poor man expectantly. He gurgled unintelligibly. 

“Run!” Ramsay shot one off at Narmen’s feet and the man jumped off into a wobbling run towards the trees. Rather like a drunken rabbit. Ramsay laughed out loud and hugged Ivy to his side. “Wait for me in the van.”

“Have fun.” Ivy pressed a chilled finger against her lips and into her cunny gathering up some residual slick. She brought her finger to his face and painted his chin and lips with her juices. 

“But don’t take too long,” she warned, licking up her mess with a swipe of her tongue up his smooth chin. “Or I’ll finish without you.”

“He’ll die quick.” Ramsay bit at her tongue, trying to catch it. He brushed his nose against hers almost fondly. “Hardly a challenge.”

“Good hunting.” Ivy grabbed Ramsay’s face and planted one last kiss on his lips before spinning the keys in her hand and sauntering away. She heard Ramsay’s quick footfalls as he loped after his target until they disappeared into the general quiet of the woods. 

Narmen was right. Ramsay was crazy. But a crazy she could handle.

*

Leaves crunched. 

Trees. 

Trees. 

Trees. 

He had no idea what direction he was going. 

He had no idea where the river was. 

He had no idea how far he had to run. 

All he knew was that a madman with a gun was coming for him. 

All he knew was the searing pain as something pierced his leg. 

But he couldn’t stop. 

Couldn’t stop.

_ Stop! _

*

Ivy dozed lightly in the back of the van, lying in a small nest of their discarded clothes. With the engine on and the heater pumping noisily, the chill of the metal through the floor wasn’t so bad. It was almost pleasant. 

All of a sudden the side door slid open. Ivy bolted upright to find Ramsay panting and hungry-eyed. His face and chest covered in blood splatters. “How’d he’d die?”

“Beat his head in with a rock.”

“Why?”

“More fun that way,” he explained, crouching into the van. He grasped at her with his bloody hands. “Now come here, slut.”

Ivy smiled and backed away, pointing at the open door. Ramsay rolled his eyes and slammed it shut. “Do you always kills somebody on a first date?”

“Usually, the girl,” he honestly replied. Lying down beside her, Ramsay smeared his bloody hand over Ivy’s pale, pristine thigh. 

“Should I be afraid?”

“Yes.” He tugged her by the hips until she was flat on her back and he could slide on top of her. She didn’t struggle. “Does that frighten you, pet?”

“Should it?”

“Only if you bore me.” Ramsay unzipped his pants with one hand and fished out his readied erection. He snapped his hips in one sharp thrust and he was inside her. Ivy groaned at the burn and the hint of pain. She wasn’t wet enough for him yet. She hastily rubbed at her clit as she pulled him down on top of her. 

“I. Hate. Being. Bored,” he informed between every rough thrust. She groaned and squirmed, biting at his lips, his chin, whatever piece of him she could get her mouth on. 

“Me too,” she mumbled, abruptly flipping them over so she was on top. She rolled her hips and held Ramsay down by the throat. His eyes went wide as she increased the pressure around his throat. “Are we having fun yet, lover?”

Ramsay grinned, bucking up into her. Ivy gasped and loosened her grip, using one hand to bring Ramsay’s blood slicked fingers to her mouth. She licked the digits playfully while she rode him like a cowboy riding an auroch before guiding his hand down to her clit. 

He pinched her sensitive nub and she whined. Instantly, she was on her back again. The van shook, rocking with his thrusts. Ivy moaned. Ramsay huffed through his nostrils, growling as he sped up. 

Snatching her hand away from her clit, Ramsay brought it up to his neck. Ivy grinned, wrapping both her hands around his throat again and squeezing. His hips stuttered but quickly regained their rhythm. 

The van shook all night long. A good time was had by all. 

Except Nermen, whose corpse got eaten over the course of the night by Ramsay’s dogs and then disposed of by his boy Ben Bones. “Another day, another grave,” the old man mumbled to himself as the sun dawned over the hole he was digging for the man who no longer had a head.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos welcome.


End file.
